


Painted Stone

by shopfront



Category: Enigma Tales - Una McCormack, Star Trek - Various Authors, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Courtship, F/F, First Meetings, Getting Together, Matchmaker Garak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21685903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/pseuds/shopfront
Summary: Arati had heard rumours that Deep Space Nine's most famous resident artist Tora Ziyal often visited the Castellan. She treated them with the same suspicious eye towards ferreting out the truth that she turned towards most rumours about Garak, but this time she's pleasantly surprised when they turn out to be true.
Relationships: Arati Mhevet/Tora Ziyal
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19
Collections: Star Trek Holidays 2019





	Painted Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cân Cennau (gwenynnefydd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenynnefydd/gifts).



The sight of a delicate figure in the Castellan’s office took Arati aback. She might not feel comfortable intruding on Garak’s residence often, but while she had grown used to the sight of Kelas shadowing Garak’s steps it was still rare that she found anyone else in Garak’s private sphere.

Arati only allowed herself a momentary hesitation in the doorway before striding forward, however. The usual assistants had waved her through and specifically said that she was expected—though how Garak could have known she was coming was most likely yet another secret he would keep just to tease her. So the other woman must be another one of Garak’s little games, or something else was afoot. Something that Inspector Mhevet ought to know about.

But there was nothing concerning or contrived about the other woman’s expression when she looked up at the sound of Arati’s footsteps. Her wide eyes, surprised and bright, were the first thing Arati noticed. Arati hesitated at the sight of them just as she had at the threshold, caught off guard by their beauty. Then she took in the worried dent left behind in the woman’s lower lip by her teeth, the smudge of charcoal on her cheek, and the brush in her hand. The delicate creases on the bridge of her nose were the last thing to register, and then in an instant Arati abruptly realised her mistake.

This could only be the famed Tora Ziyal. Away from her usual home orbiting Bajor in order to visit Garak, which meant those particular rumours were true.

Arati had travelled directly to the Castellan’s residence after her shift and was still clothed in her Inspector’s uniform, and she was surprised again when Ziyal took in the sight of her clothes before breaking into a sunny smile. Ziyal surged to her feet and dropped her paintbrush into a glass of water, before moving quickly across the room to offer Arati her palm. For a moment Arati half-thought she was to be embraced, Ziyal seemed so happy about her presence.

“You must be Inspector Arati Mhevet,” she gushed as Arati blinked and touched their hands together perfunctorily, thrown by the familiarity. “Elim has told me so much about you! I was hoping we might have a chance to meet before I left. Please, won’t you make yourself comfortable? I’m afraid he’s stepped out to see to something for Kelas, but I’m sure I can still arrange for some refreshments—“

“That isn’t necessary,” Arati said quickly, though she did take the seat Ziyal offered her. Garak would return eventually, surely.

“Oh no, I’m sure Elim probably has something already waiting for you. Rokassa juice or gelat, perhaps?”

Her face was so eager and expectant that Arati allowed herself relax just a little. “Sometimes there’s Federation coffee,” she admitted grudgingly, even though sometimes really meant all of the time.

It was against her nature to allow herself to unwind fully in the presence of a stranger. But Ziyal's joy when she located a steaming hot cup of coffee for Arati was disarming, and by the time the Castellan returned Arati found herself engrossed in a rather heated debate about the emerging Cardassian trend—influenced by the Federation, of course, as everything seemed to be these days—of street art. Something that both conflicted and delighted Arati in equal measure as so many things nowadays did, and seemed to arouse even stronger convictions in Ziyal.

But she didn't let the delightful fledgling argument stop her from making her excuses and taking Garak aside to discuss the policing issue that had brought her to his door. And while Ziyal had been perfectly gracious about releasing Arati to speak with Garak, she still lingered in Arati's thoughts for many hours after she'd left the Castellan's residence.

*

The second, third, and fourth meetings Arati had with Ziyal came thick and fast after that. She’d caught a gleam in the Castellan’s eye when she’d made her excuses to depart speedily, after a much briefer than planned conversation. Over the next few days there somehow seemed to be a never ending flood of excuses and invitations to stop by again, and she found Garak unusually rude by being repeatedly absent. Somehow Ziyal was the only one available to greet her at each visit.

The fifth time she’d arrived early and caught Garak as he was making his way out. Unavoidably called away on urgent Union business again he'd sworn before disappearing into his waiting vehicle. But Ziyal was waving him off and promising coffee in the same breath, and that was when Arati admitted to herself that she didn’t mind. That, in fact, this was the very thing she had quietly hoped for when she’d set out for a leisurely walk in the direction of the Castellan’s neighbourhood.

“If the Castellan is busy, perhaps instead we might see some of the city together?” Arati asked Ziyal, before she could second guess the impulse.

The way Ziyal lit up at the suggestion made her glad she hadn’t. It was a warm day, the sort that made Arati want to sun herself sleepily in an open courtyard. But a stroll down the newly rebuilt boulevards of Cardassia City would be equally as pleasant and redolent, especially with the right company. Garak had been enthusing only the day before about how much Ziyal still had left to learn about their home planet, so it was a surprise to Arati when Ziyal tugged her off the main roads and down a winding side street.

“I didn’t know you were so familiar with this area,” Arati said as Ziyal led her by the elbow around a corner. Her ridges itched and her fingers twitched reflexively, even though they were still in a perfectly safe neighbourhood.

Ziyal gave her a sheepish look. “I was thinking about our conversation the other day, when you told me about the inconvenience the Inspectors face when they receive certain sorts of complaints.”

Confused for a moment, Arati had to cast her mind back to remember that specific discussion. They had been having so many delightful disagreements as their visits wore on that one had begun to blur into another. Garak had even found a way to visit Arati at work without drawing undue attention—a minor miracle, as the Federation workers would have termed it—so as to invite her to dinner in person. Despite Ziyal's blushing protests, over dessert he had spoken warmly of her role during the second occupation of Deep Space Nine during their own early acquaintance. Arati might have been reluctantly charmed by Ziyal’s modesty if she'd been a little less Cardassian, but she’d already discovered the woman’s steel backbone and pleasing dedication to her principles during their first argument. Garak’s continuous stories had merely peaked her curiosity further about what lay beneath Ziyal's polite exterior.

But as they turned yet another corner to discover a riot of colour, Arati found she did remember that fateful first discussion. Ziyal had been delighted at the idea of artists quietly beautifying their city in the early hours of the morning before other citizens awoke. But she had also been aghast when Arati had expressed her displeasure at the waste of Inspector time when property owners registered complaints. Even now, there were so many other pressing concerns in Cardassia that a little paint ought not to cause such problems. Which had been the one thing they could agree upon; though not for the same reason.

But now, standing before a large stretch of unbroken stone that formed the side of a bustling shop, Arati found that she'd lost all desire to revisit the argument. No matter how much Ziyal’s ridges might flush or her eyes might sparkle if Arati insisting on pressing her point home again.

“It is beautiful,” she murmured. It was only when she felt the tightening of Ziyal’s hand around her elbow that she took in the whole of the piece and realised exactly what she was seeing. There was something distinctly alien about the artwork, though that wasn’t unusual. Most street art seemed to be influenced by the designs and traditions of other worlds.

“I asked Elim to find me someone who’d want to keep it so nobody could waste your time with more complaints,” Ziyal admitted when Arati looked at her questioningly. “I know that means it isn’t quite in the same spirit of things,” she continued in a rush before Arati could speak. “Nor was it the same to be working while under the watch of Elim’s guards instead of alone in the dark. But I think I pulled it off all the same.”

Like most of Ziyal’s art that Arati had been honoured to see scattered about the Castellan’s residence, it both did and didn’t fit the usual mould. But even Arati could see how well Ziyal had balanced the growing rebelliousness in Cardassian consciousness with the beauty and grace of traditional Bajoran art to create something new, and already she could see the appreciative surprise in the stares from others passing by. She wondered whether the next round of complaints would be larger or smaller when knots of Bajoran flowers began to find their ways into other artist’s work.

Turning to face Ziyal properly, Arati dipped her head so she could hold Ziyal’s gaze. “It is the most beautiful thing I have seen in a long time. You do me an honour to witness it,” she said seriously, without taking her eyes off Ziyal.

Ziyal’s lips parted silently for a moment as she held Arati’s gaze. “You don’t wish to argue about the size, or the location? I'm afraid I had limited options there. Elim was quite particular about my safety, and—”

Gently, Arati disengaged her elbow from Ziyal’s grip so she might take Ziyal’s hands in her own. It was strange and unfamiliar to hold instead of press, but the dawning happiness on Ziyal’s face made up for any awkwardness. Ziyal leaned in when Arati did, but somehow the meeting of their lips still felt like a surprise.

The murmuring of other Cardassians shook Arati out of the moment far too quickly, and she felt the loss keenly as she stepped back to bow her head and offer her palms for a lingering press in the more publicly acceptable Cardassian fashion. But Ziyal still held Arati's gaze as she intertwined their fingers, and she immediately stepped close again to speak softly for Arati’s ears alone.

“Perhaps there’s somewhere quieter where we might take the rest of our walk?” Ziyal asked and though her words were innocent, her tone left Arati in no confusion about her intention. Her eyes sparkled with the same fire they'd held during their arguments, and Arati could only nod, finding herself helpless to refuse Ziyal anything she wished and unable to feel displeased about it.


End file.
